


See Me Through Different Eyes

by fullarmorandahotfudgesundae



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Episode Fix-It: s01e06 Rare Species, Fix-It, Found Family, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29569167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullarmorandahotfudgesundae/pseuds/fullarmorandahotfudgesundae
Summary: Jaskier was just trying to get on with his five year plan of wallowing after being metaphorically stabbed in the back by his very best friend in the whole wide world. He didn't have time for any of this bullshit life/Destiny/his cursed genes, who knew, was throwing at him.But he always was a sucker for a damsel in distress, so off he trudged. But he wasn't going to be happy about it. Oh no, Jaskier had very definite plans to remain extremely unhappy about all of this Destiny malarkey. In that he could agree with Geralt of fucking Rivia. And he would tell him so, provided he can actually find the bastard, be relieved of his duty, and promptly get back to his plans of drinking his sorrows away.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	See Me Through Different Eyes

Jaskier took one look at the young lad who crept slowly, hesitantly into the crowded tavern and everything in him immediately went _nope_. 

Being the consummate professional he at least claimed to be, Jaskier managed to finish his set, smiling grandly as he let the final chords of _Her Sweet Kiss_ ring out. Inside, however, he was cursing his damnable misfortune. 

Under guise of gathering the coins tossed his way, he watched through lowered lashes as the boy skirted the room, catching just a flash of dirty skin as a drunk’s purse was snatched away. Something in him twanged with discomfort, watching the skilled lift. Those hands weren’t meant for such a life and to have found such talent already... 

_No,_ he thought, _no. I’m not getting involved. Not again, not for anyone._

Refusing the slight urge to check on the lad just once more, Jaskier resolutely turned away to settle accounts with the barman, exchange a fond farewell with the bar wench, and marched himself right out the door. 

The cool evening air was a tad more brisk than he’d like as he was now contemplating a night spent in the great outdoors rather than cosy in the rooms above the tavern as he’d planned. But he most definitely wasn’t staying around to get dragged back in to any of the coming mess. 

Of course, Destiny, as always, had other plans for him. 

He’d made it just to the edge of town when he found his feet simply wouldn’t move. No matter how hard he pulled, or how much of his will he focused toward shifting his legs, they simply wouldn’t budge. 

Jaskier hung his head, cursing his existence for oh, probably the dozenth time yet this week. 

“Seriously?” he shouted up to the sky, not particularly caring if any townspeople heard him. “Why now? Why me?” 

He thought for a moment, then added, “Oh, and also fuck you!” 

It was a given that most people who shout at the sky were simply railing against their fate, against the path life has led them. They don’t particularly expect an answer back. 

Jaskier, on the other hand, was unfortunately not most people. It actually wasn’t a surprise when he was actually answered. 

But oh, how he wished it was. 

_Elder blood to Elder soul,_

_Your Path will surely take its toll,_

_In your charge, take the child,_

_Through danger, fear, and wild,_

_Find yourself the missing piece,_

_Before your burden can release._

Godsfuckingdammit. 

The eerie voice he was pretty certain was his particular ‘blessing’ had vanished after it’s delightfully cryptic message. Unfortunately, he knew from past experience, he could neither shout the guide back nor stray from the path it had set him. 

Of course, the last fucking time his ‘helpful’ guide had given him a task, he’d ended up with his heart ripped up and shoved back down his throat, so forgive him for being a little fucking upset. 

Sighing a world-weary sigh at odds with his youthful exterior, he slung his pack to the ground, fumbling out his notebook and writing the only guidelines he’d get on this next bit of bullshit life was throwing at him. He didn’t bother looking over the verse, figuring he’d best get started on this lovely little task so he could get it over with and get back to his side-tracked plan of drinking, playing, and more drinking. He’d thought to have at least five more years of wallowing before he grew sick of himself and shaped himself into something new. That was out the window for now, obviously. 

He turned around and trudged back to the village, muttering imprecations against every deity, spirit, monster, entity and so on that he could think of. Oh and not forgetting Geralt of fucking Rivia, whose fault this was entirely.

Jaskier wasn’t quite sure how to go about this next bit. He knew he had to make himself known to the child, but how to do that without being either extremely creepy or suspicious enough he ended up on a chase through town. 

Eh, he figured he’d just wing it. It usually served him well. 

Okay, so maybe not that well and actually usually ended with him either fleeing for his life or hiding behind Geralt. 

His mood soured again as his thoughts again turned to his long time companion. Twenty years was a drop in the bucket to a Witcher, to be sure, but Jaskier had really thought...Okay, no, he knew his own worth and he did know Geralt, regardless of how opaque the other thought himself. They were friends. A little weird in their closeness at times, but friends nonetheless. And for Geralt to just throw all of that history away? 

Right, so maybe Jaskier could have waited a bit longer. He knew how Geralt got after Yennefer, may that bitch rot in Hell, dropped by to smash his heart into little bitty pieces beneath her admittedly tasteful footwear. If he’d only waited longer, given Geralt the space the Witcher needed to pull his ever-more ragged mask back into place, he may have been comfortably camping out with Geralt right now. But no, a jealous Jaskier was a foolhardy Jaskier and he hadn’t thought his actions through. And so yes, he did have to shoulder a portion of the blame for their falling out, but Jaskier was also king of self-denial and petulance, so until an apology was made by certain monosyllabic people, Geralt’s fault it would remain. 

Jaskier was pulled from his musing by a ruckus outside the very establishment he’d sedately left. He certainly hadn’t fled. Nope. Not at all. 

Getting closer, he took in the commotion. Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed yet again. 

_Oh Geralt,_ he thought. _You are going to have your hands full with this one._

Gods, this was going to be tricky. 

Gathering the entire weight of his breeding and years spent navigating the cesspools of royal courts, he shoved himself into the fray, making for the small figure dangling helplessly from the hand of a sturdy and rough fellow. 

“My good sir!” he bellowed with stentorian tones. Copied directly from his father, but no one had to know that. “I must ask you unhand my apprentice at once!” 

The crowd, sensing a good story, hushed. 

The thickset man, probably either a butcher or blacksmith looking at those muscles, turned a scowling countenance on the bard, dragging his helpless captive with him. He was surprised the child's hat stayed on with the violent motion.

“This little thief helped himself to my purse!” 

Of course she did. 

He’d have to teach her how to better pick her targets, although he did have to credit her for choosing the ones least likely to miss their bounty in the long run. 

“Did not!” was the shrill response. 

Back to the task at hand, Jaskier gave a contrived laugh that seemed to set the crowd more at ease. “Oh, of course he did! My lad here has been practicing his sleight of hand! A handy trick for at court, when I can play and the lad does tricks of legerdemain. You simply must have caught the moment he was attempting to put it back.” 

Meeting clear green eyes for the first time, Jaskier gave the slightest shake of his head. A widening of those eyes was his only answer, but he hoped the message had been passed on. 

“Huh?” came the educated response from the brute holding Jaskier’s child. 

Catching that thought, Jaskier winced internally. Godsdammit. He’d gone and gotten attached. Already. That was a record. 

Maintaining his eye contact with the child, Jaskier reiterated cheerfully, “My lad here has been learning magician’s tricks to aid my performance at court. I set him to practicing picking pockets to be able to return trinkets and such to ladies at court as if by magic. Mere practice, good sir, and not meant to be an offence. Certainly not worth the bruises you’re leaving on my apprentice’s arm.” 

The crowd’s mood had shifted to sympathetic with a decent explanation, and he instantly forgave their poor taste in requested songs from earlier. The blacksmith, as he must be now that Jaskier could see lingering burn marks on his hands, sensed the shift against him and loosened his hold. 

Jaskier continued quickly, not wanting the child to waste his hard work by bolting. Taking his cue from an instinct that appeared from nowhere, he added, “Now, if that’s settled, my lad will return your purse. _Geralt_ , give the man his purse back and apologize for the sloppy practice.” 

Green eyes went wide again at his emphasis and Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief as a torrent of words followed. “Sorry, sir, here’s your purse, and I’m ever so sorry for the misunderstanding. I do apologize.” 

“Well, that’s settled then. Geralt, come over here and let me look at those bruises. Can’t be going about bruised to the Redanian court; what would that do for my reputation? Imagine, the great bard Jaskier showing up with an apprentice looking like a common brawler.” 

He kept up the patter as the child nearly fled to his outstretched arm and they made their way through the dispersing crowd back toward the edge of town. 

Making for the cover of the forest, Jaskier listened carefully for any signs of pursuit. Hearing none, he turned and looked down at his new charge. 

“Well, your Highness, that was quite foolish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's keep in mind that Jaskier is not in a great place mentally. He thinks he is, but maintaining that level of self-awareness can be exhausting. It's easier to let the anger and hurt overrule logic sometimes. He's going to be a somewhat unreliable narrator about his perceptions of others and their interactions with him. Human nature is just like that.
> 
> There won't be mass quantities of Yennefer hate. He's just jealous and hurting and wanting to blame someone. He does know she's someone to have on side, as it were. 
> 
> As for _my_ issues with Yennefer...I really like her complexity, but I really can't get past the whole initial mind-control, non-consensual orgy and using Geralt as an attack dog. She's overcome a lot and she's strong enough to keep herself from getting hurt, which is great. But she's fallen into the trap of only using her strength for her own ends, which unfortunately has the consequence of making others dance to her tune and causing them as much trauma and anguish as she went through. It's a subtle form of the abused becoming an abuser and I can't love her for that. 
> 
> TL;DR Jaskier has a few moments of unreliability in narration, Yenn-hate is part of his internal monologue, things will get better.


End file.
